Of Being Silent

Yep, I'm in Kentucky. Freakin' Kentucky.

It's been oddly foggy lately, making it quite hard to see out my car window as I drive. This could also be because my car, Randy, hasn't been washed since around my junior year of high school. Things have been weird lately, and I think the fog kind of fits.

Seth and I talked about it the other night. It sounds so cliche, but the world has so much to offer, and its so loud and busy that we can't see the next semester ahead of us, and any attempt to listen to and hear what is truly the voice of God is muffled--no, drowned out entirely--by the boisterous, look-at-us antics of the church and many of today's Christians.

I've started to read through the Old Testament, which is literally the first time I've done that since I learned the Ten Commandments with hand motions and silly riddles (3rd grade). Anyway, I've noticed--just through the first few chapters--that God speaks to those crazy, old, white-haired characters (that is what they looked like, right?) a lot. 24 times, to be exact, through the first twelve chapters alone! He tells Adam not to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He speaks to Noah and commands him to make a boat. A freakin’ huge boat. He “appears” to Abram and tells him to leave his country and his family and his father’s house. Once, its recorded, Adam and Eve simply heard the sound of God.

So who is this God? Who does He think He is coming down and making noises amid the trees, appearing to people, and making them build boats when it had never even rained?!

Okay, I know that was harsh. But this is a different God than the one I know, right?

What happened to this old, annoying, in-your-face, lets-sit-and-chat God? Pretty sure God’s never appeared to me. Seems like I’d remember that. He’s never called to me or spoke to me, and I definitely haven’t heard Him in the gardens and fields, that’s for dang sure.

Why is the God of America silent? Why is He invisible and why is it foggy outside?

I’ve never really been one for transitions and I’m finding it hard to make one here. But listen. I believe with all of my heart that God is trying to speak to you. Think it’s easy to get our attention? His best tricks don’t even work anymore! Sunsets are no longer captivating. We rarely hesitate to taste the cold air on a December night. Billions–literally, billions–of stars loom overhead every single night and go unnoticed by billions of humans. A song of King David captures God’s attention-grabbers in spectacularly beautiful fashion. Psalm 104–its unbelievable. You’ve got to check it out.

“...dressed in sunshine, all of heaven stretched out as your tent...”

“...you made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings...”

“...you started the springs and rivers, sent them flowing among the hills...”

“What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. Oh look, the deep, wide sea brimming with fish past counting, sardines, sharks, and salmon...”

Wow.

David noticed God’s cries for attention.

Right now I’m listening to The Glorious Unseen, a really cool worship band, and they have this incredibly beautiful song, “Tonight the Stars Speak.”

Tonight the stars speak of your infinite love
and it serves to remind me that what I have
means nothing at all compared to your glory
oh Lord

how long til your voice speaks clearly?

I wonder the same thing. Oh, Lord, how long til your voice speaks clearly? The voice of God. Speaking. Clearly. What a glorious thought indeed.

What if, though, God’s voice hasn’t lost its boom? What if He doesn’t always just faintly whisper?

Shane Claiborne says in the Irresistible Revolution “we’ve taken the claws off the Lion of Judah.” Have we also taken away His roar?

Most of us wake up in the morning to a noise (a harsh, beeping alarm or maybe a cool ringtone like me), pour a bowl of Cocoa Crispies, and turn on our music and Sportscenter. Then we walk to class with our iPods–while texting–and then have to sit and listen while some middle-aged dude on a power trip lectures about the Revolutionary War while we wonder what kind of revolution we got ourselves into in the first place here in America. Simply put, there’s a lot of crap going on. I am not saying in the least that iPods and sports and TV and the Internet and music and school teachers and big, loud, laser-show worship services and Myspace and Facebook and cell phones and Starbucks and shows and youth camp are of the devil. They’re just loud. I want to be quiet.

See, I really do think God’s voice is there to be heard. As I search for direction and for what it truly means to be a Christian, I have to believe that I can still hear God...if not are my prayers not hopeless?

In short, Seth and I (we’re not the only ones, even among my circle of friends) are tired. We’re searching, wondering if something exciting, something real is out there for us. We’re wondering if school really does blow or if we are really that lazy. We’re wondering if those nagging, unsatisfied desires in our heart were put there by God to be lived and experienced or put there by us as an escape from the harsh reality of four years of college and 9-5s. We know are parents are wise and that we’re young, brash, know-it-all’s. We’ve accepted the label of “weird” and have come to expect the loving pat on the back and, “Aw, listen to you, you have such a vision...but you can’t go on dreaming forever” from someone who’s settled and accepted what the world or their parents told them to be.

Look, I don’t want to rebel against my parents. I don’t want to yell and throw things and run out of the house and get a tattoo. I don’t want to slam the state of the church and run away, leaving it just as I found it. I don’t even–and this is, admittedly, a tough one to say–want to be cool or trendy. I think I really just want to be who God wants me to be. I think I really want to do what He says.

Except that...dang it...I can’t hear Him.

This summer, after spending a week at church camp where God blessed me with no cell phone service, I decided to take another week off from the cell. It was really cool, and when I turned my phone back on I had lots of hateful voicemails from friends who couldn’t get a hold of me and were pissed. It was also the first time–heck, the only time–that I’ve ever heard the voice of God speak. I sensed that, undoubtedly, I was supposed to go to Western Kentucky this fall. Could the same voice that called me here really be calling me away after only a few months? Hey, He’s done crazier things, for sure (remember that story in Numbers where the donkey talks?). I just want to hear Him.

So in about a week, Seth and I are planning a fast. Maybe a cell-phone fast, maybe an Internet fast. Maybe a food fast. Maybe all three. We don’t know yet. Understand that I tell you this not so I can appear spiritual (I’ve been tuning God out for months, how spiritual can I be, really?), but to invite you into this blessed period of shutting up. Of being silent.

The fog illustrates this well. The other night, I was driving in fog so thick that I was speeding along at around 10 miles an hour down the backroads. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just supposed to have faith. Maybe I’m supposed to sell everything I have, give it to the poor and follow Jesus.

But I want to hear God speak, I need to hear Him speak. I’m expecting to hear Him speak. I think that’s a good thing.

Outside the window, the fog has cleared up.